


Return to Form

by miss_nettles_wife



Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: Modern AU, battle of the bands au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 19:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15825234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_nettles_wife/pseuds/miss_nettles_wife
Summary: Charlie Davis returns to his first Battle of the Bands after the three year ban was was issued for throwing wine at Rose Anderson on national television expires. While Munro and Bill argue he slinks away to find food, and remarkably, good company. In, as fate would have it, the form of Matthew Lawson and the Phenomena's new drummer.





	Return to Form

**Author's Note:**

> hey remember like 2 years ago when I posted my idea for a battle of the bands au?

Charlie despised BOTB. Boh-Tuh-Buh. Battle of the Bands. The yearly competition where local bands met up, played music for mostly disinterested judges who were trying to resurrect their failing careers and left with little more than Glory. If you won, of course, if you didn't then you were fucked. Charlie would know, he's been coming to these godforsaken events for as long as he can remember. First when his father was a singer, and his band went and it was his weekend to have him. Now as an adult he was forced to come by his own band. If you could call them that.

This was his first one since...Well. In the last three years. Last time he was here, he threw a glass of red wine in Rose Anderson's face at the awards ceremony. In his defense, she absolutely deserved it. Not that her uncle had seen it like that and promptly had him issued with a three-year ban. It was an overreaction in his opinion. It was just a little wine (he'd already drunk most of the glass) and no one had bothered to listen to his reason. Just 'that's assault, Charlie' and 'Do you think your father would have let you get away with that?" Whatever. Not that anyone cared about his side ever before, he'd learned that one the hard way as a child when he threw temper tantrums while he dad was in practice and was quickly issued with a ' stop that, Charlie, I'm working'.

Indeed, Charlie hated Boh-Tuh-Buh, and he hated the bands taking part in this exercise in futility.

The General Practitioners, who, if also getting the obnoxious acronym treatment became Tuh-Geh-Puh, had never followed a trend in their lives and absolutely sounded like it. He was going to break that synth with his bare hands if he ever had to hear that obnoxious cover of Mona again. The leading man was named Lucien and their guitarist was named Jean. He was okay, she was fine and he only knew that because they sat with him while he was being handed down his punishment for the wine thing.

Matthew Lawson and the Phenomena were a little better. Gun to his head, he'd say he preferred them just by virtue of having a much cooler name than Tuh-Guh-Puh.  He preferred their music too, more rock and roll. He wouldn't say that he and Matthew were in a feud because a feud would have to be two-sided. Matthew didn't like him, and Charlie was…Completely impartial to him. He remembered watching Matthew perform when he was a kid, he'd been mesmerized by his guitar work. Infatuated, really. He wouldn't say a groupie but perhaps a big fan. He had a huge poster in his bedroom at his mothers' house which upset his father an almost comical amount.

 When he’d approached him before throwing wine on his niece, the one time Charlie had ever tried his hand at making his music with his own band (Passing Waist, Puh-Wa) and entered the competition with the intention of proving himself (he'd been seventeen, and that was what seventeen-year-olds did) and been berated for making music that sounded like a rip off of Muh-Lu-Aah-Thua-Fuh, flaunting his sexuality for views, being handed his career on a silver despite having limited skill of his own and for being annoying. If he deserved that, well, he’d leave that to be decided by the public but he’d been so humiliated he’d sworn to never join another band. If Matthew even remembered it, he didn’t act like it. He’d sent flowers when his father died.

Not to mention the very handsome drummer that they'd picked up in Charlie's absence who if his hastily filled in ' Hi My Name Is' sticker was to be believed, was named Danny. Or maybe it was just that he was wearing a Bat Out Of Hell II t-shirt and Charlie is nothing if a sucker for a good power ballad.

Of course, then there was Charlie's band. Okay, it wasn't his band, it was William Munro's band, but it was the band Charlie was a part of. A Ball Of Rats. Uh-Buh-Ruh. It was a fine band, as far as bands went. Their albums were just fine, and if you weren't listening particularly hard, then you wouldn't even notice that Charlie was filling in for his deceased father. According to the reviews of their recent album 'Loving Memory' ( a tribute to Norm, obviously) declared that unless they were looking into it, and it hadn't been so heavily publicized, then no one would have noticed Norm was even gone. But they might have just been being a bit nice; even journalists have a hard time writing bad reviews for albums written in loving memory. Or something. 

Would have been nice, except for the fact that Charlie himself got almost no publicity from it. It was all about Munro and his voice and guitar playing. He wasn’t a spotlight craver most of the time but it would have been nice to be recognized as someone other than his father's son. Perhaps he should just accept that was all he was destined to be, but that seemed like passing up a challenge and he was never one to do something like that. He liked being right too much.

Charlie had never wanted to join Uh-Buh-Ruh. Why would he? He'd spent his entire life watching this band drive is father further into drugs and alcohol. He'd watched on as the band overtook his life, freezing out his wife and four kids, except for the ones who had musical talent (read: Ray) of course. Ray was always the favorite child, for both his parents. His other kids were only his half-siblings, he only found out about them in the old man's will, where all of them were left much more than him. For the interested, Charlie's father left him fifteen bucks and a Yamaha keyboard. At the time, Charlie had been working as a receptionist for a private investigator, with the hope of someday getting his own license. Then a week later, probably realizing that Ray cannot work in a team to save his life, Munro offered him a spot on the band. His father's spot.

Of course, Charlie said no.

Then he came back doubling his offer and Charlie said yes.                                                                                           

At his mothers urging. She had always believed that he had the skills required to be a musician. And maybe she was right, Charlie was a pretty good pianist, for all that was worth, and he loved songwriting. Playing not so much, but writing yes. Ironically, he got into a lot more trouble songwriting that he ever had playing. He wrote songs about werewolves and final girls and swamp monsters, mostly. Things that interested him. He gave his best songs away, to other bands who might want them. Behind the Bike Racks (a song about being a teenager) went to Rose Anderson, who took his writing name off it and replaced it with her own. Which was why he threw the wine in her face. A Lover Like You, a song about being in love with a werewolf that doubles as a metaphor for abuse went to The General Practitioners who used it to hit number three on the local charts. As far as his own band went, he had no writing credits and didn't want them. He didn't want to make money from his songs, just build his reputation as trustworthy. 

Rose was the only one who knew he was also Christan Solaris. And look what she'd done with the information. He hadn’t written anything worth anything in three years and had no idea what to do to get his so called good writing ju-ju back, if there was anything at all. Maybe he’d peaked and would never write again? Maybe it was better that way.

Charlie reached his hand into the open bag of Twisties he was holding and fished out the largest one in the bag. Not a particularly glamorous meal, but then again it didn't need to be. While his band was off preparing for a show, or, arguing with each other whatever you wanted to call it, he'd found his way in here to look at the free food and potentially find something to eat because he was fucking hungry. For God's sake, what was it that the rest of the band had against eating?

Charlie's heard stories about musicians who get so caught up in their work that they don't eat for days at a time, but Charlie is certainly not that sort. He's never been so engrossed in something that he couldn't take a lunch break. So sue him. He looked back at the others gathered in the break room. Matthew Lawson himself was discussing something with a woman he doesn't recognize, Rose Anderson has been trying to catch his eye for the last ten minutes, and Danny was very eyeing him up as well.

Whatever, they could look at him if they wanted, that wasn't a crime.

According to the schedule that he'd written up for his Instagram, he needed to post at least one picture today. He still wasn't sure what though. It had been a suggestion from a long time fan (who was incredibly invested in 'shipping' him with Munro) that he could rehabilitate his image if he actually used his Instagram more than once a year. She'd been right; apparently seeing that he was just like everyone else had made people like him a little more. It also took away some of the mystique but he could live with that.

Across the room, Danny stood, the movement caught Charlie's eye. He moved aside so the dude could get to the snacks if he wanted them. He collected a packet of plain chips and moved to stand next to him. Charlie turned to give him a weird look. Danny smiled at him

 "You're the one who threw a glass of red wine at Rose, right?"

Score one for Charlie, he wasn't the one making this weird, Danny was.

“Would you like to try that one again?”

“You’re Norm Davis’s son, right?” Charlie rolled his eyes at him, and then tossed a final handful of Twisties in his mouth.

“I can’t sing, my step-mother joined a doomsday cult and am estranged from my brother, if you’re going for a full sweep of things that I’m touchy about.” He at least seems able to be embarrassed by his own social incompetence.   
“Sorry. Just trying to start conversation.” Danny replied, shoving chips into his mouth.   
“What are you touchy about, then?”  
“Uh…My nose.”   
“Your…Nose?”  
“Mmhm.” Charlie scoffed slightly and leaned back on the table. “Look at it!”   
“Your nose? It certainly is.” Charlie concurred.

Danny rolled his eyes. Charlie thinks that he’s a handsome boy.   
“So what is your band playing for the covers portion?”  
“God as if I would know. Munro doesn’t tell me shit. I think it’s a classic rock song.”  
“You don’t know? It’s not like I’m going to steal your idea.”  
“I don’t know. No one tells me anything because I’m not an original.”   
“An original?”  
“One of the Rats of whom make up the ball.”   
“Ah. I’m not an original.”   
“I couldn’t have guessed. Except that I did on account of that I’ve never seen you before.”   
“Yeah, uh, yeah.”   
“What happened to the old bloke?”  
“Well…He and the old man got into a big fight. Saw an ad, applied, got in. Now I’m here working on the new album.”   
“I see. I’m here because my father died.” "Yeah, I figured."

They spent a few moments in a silence, while they waited for the next topic of conversation to roll along.

“Why did you throw wine on Rose?”

“Because she deserved it.”  Danny kept looking at him, before shrugging. He seemed to accept he wasn’t going to get anything else out of him about the incident. He was supposed to be putting it behind him and focusing on his music or some such nonsense. It’s had to focus on music when the only music you’re allowed to focus on is the three songs Munro gave him to learn. “What are you playing for the covers section?”

“We’re covering A Lover Like You to piss off The General Practitioners.”

“Something must have happened while I was gone, I thought you were tight with them? Or your band was, at least.”

“Yeah, not anymore.”

“What happened?”

"No idea. It was before my time.”

“I know that feeling. Seems like everything was before my time.” Charlie said, nodding his head empathetically.

“Did you always have an interest in music?”

“Not really. But it pays the bills.”

“Your father didn’t teach you his tricks of the trade?”

“The only thing my father taught me was how to conceal drug use and get away with lying to my mother.”

“Another touchy subject?”

“No. Everyone knows Norm Davis was a druggie dead beat. It’s just fact.” He said, “When I comes to dear old dad, I’m an open book.”

“My mother only listens to Church music.” Danny said, moving the conversation away from his father, as most people did. “The first time I heart rock and roll, I thought my head was gonna explode.”

“In a good way?”

“Yeah. Have you been to the rooms by the way?"

"I haven't even looked at them," Charlie replied. If Munro caught him slacking off in the hotel rooms he didn't think the outcome would be in his favour.  He was already on thin ice after the wine incident and he didn't much fancy testing any more limits.

“So you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“We’re sharing a room.”

“We’re? Us?”

“Yep.”

“Why?” He asked, scrunching his bag up into a little ball and throwing it into a nearby bin, successfully. “I thought we’d be put with our teams.”

“So did the rest of us. Turns out there is a very limited number of rooms. “ Charlie nodded and sighed. 

“Lemme guess, there’s only one bed.”

"No, there's two," Danny said, cheerfully. Charlie didn't know why he was so cheerful, or what exactly there was to be cheerful about.  He grabbed a bottle of water coated with condensation from the table and struggled with the seal.

“Fuck.” He mumbled under his breath as it skidded across his palm painfully. Danny took it from him and turned the lid effortlessly.

“Here.”

“Thanks.” He swallowed a mouthful and looked back at Danny. He really was a good looking man, and if it wasn't for his unfortunate alliance with Matthew Lawson than he might have considered propositioning. "Would you like to take a picture with me for Instagram?" 

“Sure. You post on there a lot.”

“It’s all a ploy to make people think I’m more likable than I actually am.” He said, taking his phone from his pocket and flicking on the front-facing camera. Danny pushed in close so they could both be in the frame and grinned. He was warm to the touch. Charlie took three pictures giving his best ‘I am not agony’ smile.

Pictures taken, he tucked the phone away just as Munro stormed into the room with Bill Hobart trailing just behind.

“Here come the fireworks.” He said, sighing. Danny looked away from where he seemed to be looking at Charlie’s left cheek towards the door. As Charlie predicted, Munro began hurling abuse at Matthew, accusing him of trying to ‘fix' the so-called battle and that he was being ‘unfair’ and that he was the one behind the room assignments. Taking one last drink from his bottle before chucking it into the bin he gave Danny a slight smile before walking off to try and wrangle him as best he could. 

As he moved off, he heard Danny behind him.

“See you around, Christian.”

Charlie bypasses Munro all together and breaks out into a sprint in the hotel lobby.

**Author's Note:**

> The name 'Ball of Rats' was created by my dear friend gibbsheroic27 as a tumblr account for Bill Hobart, I appropriated it for this fic. Yes, the name of Matthew Lawsons band is a Lana Del Rey reference.


End file.
